A Good Old Case Of Deus Ex Machina
by Ellana-san
Summary: After Chloe dies an untimely death, God pops down for a chat. Lucifer isn't exactly thrilled to see his father but can he get a deal out of this conversation? Let's Wing It! Fic Exchange.


_This is my third entry for the "Let's Wing It!" Fic Exchange. TitC prompted "Running Up That Hill" by Kate Bush._

 _It was hard! Haha! You said no downer ending by your standards so I did my best! I hope you like this and that I didn't fail too much at writing God ;)_

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 _ **A Good Old Case Of Deus Ex Machina**_

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He hadn't stopped drinking since the funerals.

Not that it did him any good, downing bottle after bottle only gave him a small buzz at best. His powers seemed to be stronger than ever and getting drunk wasn't an option. Another cruelty to add to the list.

Without warning, he threw the glass at the mirror on the other side of the bar with a helpless cry of rage nobody was there to witness. There it was again. Every time he closed his eyes. The memory he was desperate to forget, the one he could never ignore.

Chloe dying in his arms. Blood everywhere, all over his hands. The roaring pain in his shoulder that hadn't made sense at the time not until a tearful Dan had pried him away from her body and had forced him to sit down, repeating again and again _'Lucifer, you've been shot'_ as if it had made any sense. As if anything had made any sense.

Lux was deadly silent, as it had been for a week now, and, once he reached for another glass behind the bar, there was only the familiar noise of alcohol being poured to keep him company. At another time, it might have been enough to be comforting. Now…

Now, it was simply a noise that grated on his nerves. The same way he could barely bear the sound of his lighter flicking on. The same way he had raged and upturned tables until everyone had run out that night after the funerals because nobody should be partying right now, the whole world should be mourning, the whole universe should have stopped breathing with the strength of his grief.

He wanted it to stop.

He wanted to stop it.

And in the darkest moments of despair he wondered if that was _it_ , the apocalypse prophesized since the dawn of time, brought into being by the death of one human.

He had almost followed on that thought.

He downed the glass of whatever it was. Whiskey or scotch, something expensive that tasted like ash. Everything tasted like ash since that day.

It had been so stupid. So _stupid_.

A call had come through her radio when they were driving back to the precinct at the end of a most satisfying day of catching murderers. A man who had mugged a grocer's shop and was running away. They were in the neighborhood, they had given chase, eventually leaving the car behind to follow on foot when the suspect had rushed into a building. It had been thrilling at the time and, of course, Lucifer hadn't listened to her demand that he stayed in the car. He had followed her and she had rolled her eyes but hadn't protested much more.

They had cornered him eventually, their suspect. Barely more than a kid, not quite seventeen, threatening them with a weapon he could barely hold the right way. The Detective hadn't even pulled out her own gun. She had tried to reason with him.

Neither of them had seen the second man hiding in the shadow.

One shot and the Detective had gone down, Lucifer catching her out of reflex. He hadn't understood the second shot had found its mark, not until Dan had later told him. _'Lucifer, you've been shot. Let them take care of you. Let her go. You can't do anything for her anymore. You've been shot. Let her go. You're hurt.'_ Nothing had made sense. Nothing.

Just the terror.

He wasn't sure what had happened to the two murderers. He had lost it at that point, everything had flashed red, his eyes, his face, his sight… The kid had been huddling in one corner begging for his mother by the time the LAPD had stormed in. The other one, the one who had shot his detective… Nobody had asked him how that one had died. He probably had Dan to thank for that.

He had tried to keep her there with him. He had tried _so hard_. He had done it before, on their first case together, and he had told her that, he had joked about how this felt like a throwback to a first date and she had laughed. She had laughed and then she had… His powers had always been tenuous around her. Lately, they had been downward inexistent.

Her soul wouldn't stay.

It had slipped through his fingers, right through his fingers…

He rubbed his shoulder where the scar remained, a thick patch of angry red skin. He wasn't sure why it wasn't fading. It should have. Without the Detective, he had healed in a few minutes – to the paramedics puzzlement. The scar had remained behind, like a reminder. Maybe it was his unconscious. Maybe he wanted to keep it. To make sure he never forgot. As if he could.

He felt her loss as keenly as he had the wings on his back.

Another glass.

The same noises of alcohol being poured, a bottle being placed down. The cigarette was slowly consuming itself between his fingers.

He had tried to pray.

He hadn't told anyone that. Well… He had yelled it at Linda in a rage when she hadn't stopped poking, trying to make him talk about _feelings_ that made him want to _howl._

He had begged his father when he had realized his powers weren't working, that Chloe would die there, in a shady squat full of graffiti and abandoned syringes. He had begged his father for help, had promised anything in return. His mother, hell, _anything_. There had been no answer. None at all. Even once she had been gone, even once he had stopped begging Him to save her and had started requesting to swap their places, his soul off the human plane for her soul back in her body, even then, all that had answered him was a great silence.

Typical.

 _Typical_.

The creaking of the doors alerted him but he refused to look behind his shoulder. It might be the bouncers checking everything was alright inside, it might be someone coming to check on _him._ He really didn't care.

He took a drag of his cigarette just because he was tired of watching it burn on itself like a pathetic metaphor for his life.

He missed the rage. He had been so full of wrath in the immediate aftermath he had almost burn with it. For days he had let it consume him. He had hated his Father, first and foremost, for giving him the Detective only to take her away.

He had stormed into his mother's office and had declared he was all about finding that last piece now, that he would be her Lightbringer – and he had had no problem igniting the sword, not anymore – that he would make the Silver City crumble down.

He had _dreamed_ about it. For days he had dreamed about it. Running up the golden hill that led to the huge doors, tearing them open and destroying everything on his path until he found Chloe. Sometimes that dream took the form of a rescue mission. Sometimes all he cared about was burning Heaven to the ground until they all understood the amount of pain he was in.

Sometimes he hated the Detective too. For dying. For being so fragile. For making him into the devil he now was – which wasn't much of a devil at all.

That was the thing with humans. One second they were complaining about their demon roommate who couldn't follow simple instructions, the next they were gone from the surface of the Earth, never to be seen again because their soul was too pure and _he had been banned from Heaven_.

He had pretended it didn't hurt him at first. It hadn't lasted a day for denial to disappear. It hurt him. Her death. It hurt him so much he could taste blood.

The thought of never seeing her again, he couldn't bear it. He _couldn't_.

"This is a nice place."

The voice wasn't familiar and Lucifer only gave a glance over his shoulder before looking away just as fast. The man who was walking down the stairs was young, wearing jeans with holes in them that didn't seem to be there for fashion purposes and an awful woolen sweater in a rusty color. He was unremarkable, unassuming and absolutely not worth noticing.

"We're closed." Lucifer growled, his fingers tightening around his glass.

"I heard." the man shrugged.

It didn't stop him from strutting to the bar, apparently unconcerned with the slight clicking of the bottles and glasses as they shook with Lucifer's wrath.

He didn't want to be disturbed.

He had made that _clear_. His control was all relative and just because he had been talked out of going on a murdering spree by an eight year old girl didn't mean he wouldn't accidentally do something he would regret if he was provoked. The man was blissfully oblivious to it all though. He hopped on the stool next to his, reached behind the bar for a glass and stole the bottle right from under Lucifer's nose.

"I said _we're closed_." he repeated, putting just enough of his real voice in his tone to send any human weeping in fear.

The man barely blinked. "You have looked better."

Maybe not so human. He so wasn't in the mood for celestial meddling.

The wrath deflated though. Like it had done every time it had bloated again since his talk with Trixie. Being furious was easier on a lot of accounts, it helped mask the pain underneath but… He had felt it now, that pain, and he could never shake it.

His shoulder throbbed as if in agreement and he rubbed it again, almost without thought.

"Have we met before?" he snorted, giving the man a second glance over. He wasn't one of his siblings but who knew what his father had been up to since he had left Heaven. Maybe he was a new prophet or – _God forbids_ – a new _Jesus._ It would explain the slightly hippy would also go hand in hand with his decision to ransack Heaven, maybe he was there to spread the news or to prevent him from doing just that. If it was about that, the guy was a little late to the party but Lucifer supposed he should get kudos for having tried.

"Has it been so long you don't recognize me, Samael?" the man asked casually before taking a sip of whiskey.

Lucifer's head shot up so fast something in his neck _snapped_.

He stared at the man, stared _hard_ , and he could almost _see_ it, see the bright ball of light peeking out through the cracks.

"Father." he whispered.

His first instinct was to find a weapon.

His second was to think _sod that_ and punch Him hard in the unremarkable face He had chosen for Himself.

His third one was to grab Him and refuse to let go until He had given back what wasn't His to take. Maybe threaten to call Charlotte if that would speed up the process, maybe gloat a little about walking unarmed into the devil's den.

In the end he did none of that.

He just sat there and stared.

At another time, he would have done it all and then some.

Right then, nothing seemed important but the fact that his father was the key to getting to Chloe. Perhaps He would agree to let him talk to her. Perhaps he could tell her that he…

He would make a deal for that chance. Talk to her one last time. Tell her how he felt. Tell her how grateful… If he only could…

"I heard you were thinking of popping up to give me back your sister's sword." his father commented when Lucifer remained silent, there was a hint of teasing in his voice.

"If by _giving it back_ you mean stabbing you straight through the heart with it." he snarled before he could help himself.

"But you didn't." God hummed as if they were simply discussing the weather instead of His – admittedly uncertain – murder. "In fact, I believe you told your mother you weren't interested in taking the Silver City back anymore."

He closed his eyes and sighed. It always came right back to _this_ , didn't it? What his parents wanted, their agendas against each other… They didn't care about anything else, about anyone else.

He felt the familiar anger rise up but it was snuffed by the grief he felt. What did he care about his father's vendetta against him or about the rocky relationship his parents shared? The whole thing paled in comparison to the Detective's death.

He had been set on following his mother's plans. He had been set on taking back what was his… And how he had shouted and screamed when Linda had asked if it was really what Chloe would have wanted… _'Once I control Heaven, I will bring her back to life! Of course, it's what she would want'_ , he had snarled.

And then the Detective's spawn had happened, asking him in that small tearful voice how Heaven was and if her mother was happy there. And right as he had described the splendors of paradise for the girl and how content Chloe must have been, he had realized that _no, no, his storming of the Silver City wasn't at all what she would have wanted_. She was at peace, he had promised the child and he had meant it. The Detective didn't need a dashing rescue, not this time.

"The sword is in the safe upstairs." he answered, waving a dismissive hand that left a trail of smoke in its wake.

"You won't try to bargain for it?" his father asked, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Before, he would have taken pleasure in having taken Him aback. Right then, pleasure tasted just as much like ash as his liquor did.

"I _would_ try to strike a deal for it but we both know you will only give what you consent to give so what's the point?" he scoffed, tossing the cigarette in the ashtray before it could burn him. Not that it _would_ burn him. He was invulnerable again now. "You could have sent one of your errant boys. Granted, it didn't end up that well for Uriel but…" He shrugged, trying to sound more casual than he truly felt. His brother's death still weighted heavily on his mind. What he had done, he had done to protect Chloe but it didn't make it easier to bear. "You still have enough children left to sacrifice a few, don't you?"

God was watching him thoughtfully, tracing the rim of his glass with a distracted finger.

Lucifer didn't look at him.

He didn't _want_ to look at him.

He had been eager to find himself face to face with his father for millenniums, to tell Him straight everything he thought of Him, and now he couldn't care less. He just wished He would hurry up and leave so he could go back to feeling miserable in peace.

"I did not send your brother, son. He came of his own free will." God offered eventually.

" _Free will_." he spat. "The greatest joke in the universe."

Did it even exist? Or were they all dancing to His tune? Even him who had thought he had escaped the strings only to fall back in the trap when he had met the Detective…

"I grieve for Uriel." his father said softly. "But what happened wasn't entirely your fault, Samael. He bears responsibility for his fate."

"Don't call me _that_." he growled. "I am not _Samael_ anymore, Dad. I am…"

"You still call me Dad." God cut him off. "And I still call you son. You _are_ still my son. Samael, the Light Bringer, the Morning Star. It is the name your mother and I gave you."

"And I changed it when you kicked me out." he retorted. "So excuse me if I'm not…"

"You called for me." his father interrupted again with that strength that could have sent the world to its knees and made Lucifer fall silent to his great annoyance. His father was more powerful than he was. It didn't come as a surprise but it was an unwelcome reminder of his failures.

"Yes, and you didn't come." he snapped. "You didn't _help_."

"I am here now." God offered. "Don't you think it's time to mend bridges, son?"

His hand was shaking when he stole the bottle back to pour himself another drink. The bottle was almost empty now and he was feeling the urge to bash the man's head in with it. It wouldn't do Him much harm but it would be a relief.

He downed his glass, not trusting himself to speak right then. There was a lump in his throat, a headache throbbing behind his eyes and, tried as he might, he couldn't summon the rightful anger he ought to feel. A shame for a wrathful devil.

"You gave her to me and then you took her away." he accused finally, almost flatly. "There are no more bridges. They're all ash in the wind now."

"I disagree." God countered. "You could have besieged the Gates of Heaven, you know there are some who would still follow you over me up there and it could have turned into a civil war. You could have brought down the apocalypse if you had so chosen. And instead you are sitting in your bar, crying in your whiskey."

"I wasn't crying." he hissed through his teeth. Not a lie. Not really. The tears never fell but _inside_ … Oh inside it was a waterfall.

His father ignored him. "And all because you promised a little girl your siblings are watching over her mother." Lucifer frowned and God shrugged. "Omniscient being, here."

He rolled his eyes. "You should be grateful for that child."

"Oh, I _am_ grateful." his father smiled and it was a kind benevolent smile. The kind that made Lucifer scoff at their deceit. "I do love Beatrice. Just as much as I love Chloe Decker. The Detective is an exceptional soul, isn't she? As far as humans go, she counts amongst my greatest creations."

Lucifer's jaw clenched. "Don't talk about her like that. She's not a puppet, she's not… She's not a _toy_."

"Of course, she's not." God frowned. "Her purpose…"

"What _was_ her purpose, Father?" he cut Him off, his eyes flashing red. "Why did you put her on my path? To hurt me by taking her away? Congratulations. Objective achieved. Now, please let me hurt in peace."

"Her purpose was to show you the way back home, Samael." God explained, in that soft tone Lucifer hated so much. As if He cared. He didn't. Lucifer knew that better than anyone. "You were never meant to come back to the Silver City armed with a flaming sword. I had hoped she would be enough for you to remember who you are, powerless as she made you feel. You had a choice to make and you made the right one. The Gates of Heaven are opened to you should you choose to come back."

He gripped the glass so tight that it broke but he didn't notice. He didn't notice the shards digging in his palm or the blood. In a second it had all vanished anyway.

"So it was all a test?" he chuckled bitterly. "You put Chloe on my path so you could… _Test me_?"

"She showed you the way to redemption." his father insisted. "And now you can come home and…"

"I _hate_ you." he spat.

"That's the first lie you've ever uttered." God dismissed, amused. When Lucifer glared, He simply shrugged. "Again. Omniscient being."

Lucifer briefly closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He wasn't sure at which point he had lost his human face for his devil one. He wasn't sure at which point his eyes had started burning red. But he was very sure he was about to lose it in a spectacular way.

The bottles and glasses were rattling again.

"Get out." he ordered. "Take your sword. Take your piece. Take your ex if you must but _get out_." He was shouting now, his voice a low growl that bounced back on the walls. "I am _never_ coming back to your Silver City, Father. _Never_. I will go back to Hell before I come back to you. I won't be your prodigal son. I won't follow your schemes. And if it means I never see the Detective again…" He stopped breathing for a second, closed his eyes. "Do _not_ presume to understand what I feel for her. You cast your own wife down to Hell on a whim. You manipulate everyone around you. You are a sick bastard who understands nothing about love and I won't give you the pleasure of patting me on the back as if it was all a tantrum on my part. I am done with you, Father, I am utterly _done_ with you. I will not hate you anymore. I will not curse you. I will not even _think_ about you. I am _done_."

He was out of breath by the time he finished and he felt strangely empty. A good sort of empty. He would have to ask Linda about that. He felt… _Free_.

"As you wish." God sighed, a little sad, as if He was humoring him, as if He was certain that Lucifer would come home at one point or another. "What I said still stands, you are welcome back." His father stood up slowly, probably hoping he would stop Him or hold Him back. Lucifer did neither. He stared at the shards of broken glass on the bar but he did flinch when he felt his father's hands resting lightly on his back, right where the scars laid. "I forgive you, son."

The hands were gone before he could shrug them off.

Lux was silent once more.

He was alone.

Lucifer buried his face in his hands, feeling the leather-like burned skin under his palms and wondering how his father could offer an unwanted forgiveness when it was _his_ to grant. There hadn't even been an apology in that whole conversation. Not one.

What his father thought of as forgiveness, Lucifer called _punishment_.

Maybe that was why he wasn't that surprised when the scars on his back started to burn. He laughed. He laughed when he felt it. He laughed until he screamed, head thrown back to the ceiling, with the pain of it all.

And once he was done screaming, he felt _them_ spanning wide on either side of him, blinding with light, each feather painfully familiar. _His_.

He didn't have time to marvel though, because the Lux had disappeared.

He was back in that shady building, the Detective and the teenager were both gaping at him and his heart was beating _so fast_ …

He jumped on her and she shrieked, not that he cared or noticed because he heard the gunshots. Six of them this time around. And six bullets crashed on the impenetrable shield of his wings.

The Detective was all wide eyes, staring at him as if she had never seen him before and he wondered what face he was sporting because he couldn't tell anymore. She was there. Breathing. _Alive_. And that was all he cared about.

He heard the teenager and his accomplice running away, the slamming doors and the shouts in the distance indicating backup was on its way… He made a conscious effort to fold the wings, to make them disappear, not sure they would obey…

But they did, just as they always had before.

The Detective blinked and then bolted behind him to touch his back, her hands poking his flesh hard, looking for… He turned around and hugged her, resting his head against hers, eyes closed, breathing her in… He couldn't even smell the dampness and the rot of the building anymore. She smelled too good.

"I love you." he heard himself say because that was what he had been desperate to say ever since he had hold her lifeless body in his arms. The moment he had felt her soul slip between his fingers, it had become _so clear_ … But she hadn't been there to hear it anymore. She hadn't… "Chloe, I love you."

She went rigid in his arms until she completely relaxed and hugged back. "Lucifer, what the hell just happened?"

"Poor choice of words, Detective…" he chuckled. It sounded a bit hysterical to his own ears but he decided he was allowed to be a little hysterical. She had been dead for more than a week and now she was there once more. "Let's just say it is a good old case of _deus ex machina_."

"Lucifer…" she insisted.

"I will explain everything." he promised. He _would_ tell her. The whole truth. He would show her, even. He would tell her he had almost ransacked Heaven for her. He would tell her he loved her again too. He would… "As soon as we're alone."

As if on cue, Detective Douche charged in, a worried look on his face that morphed into relief when he found them there. "Thank god! We heard gunshots."

"Thank God, yes…" Lucifer laughed. They both stared at him as if he was crazy – well, crazier than usual – and there was something strangely protective to the way the Detective was holding on to him.

"Are you alright?" she frowned at him, cupping his cheek.

He covered her hand with his. "Oh, I assure you… I am more than alright. Actually, I even feel a little forgiving today. _Only_ a little, mind you."

He hugged her again.

Just because he could.

She hesitated a second and then hugged back, leaving Dan to shake his head and watch them both as if they had lost their minds.

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 _I hope you liked it! Let me know!_


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